


A Revolutionary Date Night

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Fiery Templar and the Fearless Assassin [22]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Sweet, VERY belated, birthday gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: Lured to the Cafe Theatre by Arno, Élise is treated to a lovely date with her beloved Assassin, who has an important question at the end to ask her.





	A Revolutionary Date Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bbsketches](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bbsketches).



Élise entered the Café Théâtre in a flurry of fiery red hair and billowing Templar sash. The café was packed, it was dinner time and one of the busiest hours of the day for the successful establishment. On stage, a comedy was going on, the waiters slipped gracefully around the people, giving them their food or whisking away plates. She looked around, trying to find Arno. She spotted him, up front and near the stage sitting at a table for two. He seemed relaxed, despite the apparently urgent nature of his request to see her. She walked up to him. "You have news about Germain? Another clue?" she asked, hand on the hilt of her sword. He smiled when he saw her.

"Élise, please sit." He gestured to the empty chair.

Huffing, she sat, putting her hands on the table. "What is going on?" It irked her that he was so nonchalant. They had taken down Madame Lévesque, had consummated their relationship in their impromptu getaway balloon, and now he had the gall to sit before her and act like nothing is wrong? That Paris wasn't eating itself from the inside out. What the hell had gotten into him, her hands balled into fists when he gave her his signature charming smile.

"I'm glad you could make it."

"You said it was urgent," she said. "What have you found? Tell me." She watched him pick up something from the floor. She growled.

"These roses are for the most beautiful woman in all of Paris," he said, smiling as he handed them to her.

Rolling her eyes, she took the flowers and gave them a sniff, then dropped them on the floor. "Do you have  _any_  information on Germain?" she asked, ignoring his hurt look. The crowd burst into laughter at what happened on stage. She glanced at the crowd, finding them rather rude.

"No," he said. "Not anything new that we haven't learned from Madame Lévesque."

She stood up, picking up the flowers. "I see." She looked at the roses in her hand, red and white, a symbol of unity. Interesting choice, then again Arno had always been more conscious about things than she had. He was much more of a romantic. "Why did you call me here? Why did you tell me you had information?"

Arno opened his mouth to speak but the crowd's second round of laughter drowned him out. He sighed. "It doesn't matter. Go. I'm sorry. I'll speak to you when I have something related to Germain to tell you."

She looked at the red and white flowers, Arno's slumped shoulders and defeated look, a table set for two. Realization dawned on her, she reached out and took his hand. "I'm sorry Arno," she said. "I've just… I've been too focused on finding Germain, we're so close now."

"I thought you could use a break after what happened last night, I—" he cleared his throat. "Would you care to have dinner with me, Élise?"

"I'd be honored," she said, smelling the flowers again and setting them across her lap.

"You don't mind being this closer to the stage do you?" he asked, pointing to the stage behind him.

"Not at all, I'm more interested in you anyway," she said. "Did you get my note?"

One of the maids came over, beaming brightly at Arno. "You know what you want to order? Today's special is lentil soup, roasted pork in an apple sauce and boiled potatoes."

"That sounds good," Arno said, Élise nodded, the maid smiled and went back to the kitchen. "I hope you don't mind that—"

"It's fine," Élise said, waving her hand dismissively. "Food's scarce these days. I'm not picky." She chuckled. "Remember when we were children, and Father… well, you didn't know them at the time, but they were Templars; anyway, Father was hosting some Templars from England and he had the servants make steak and kidney pie."

"Oh, I do remember that!" he laughed. It was a rich sound, coming from his belly. She always loved it when he laughed, for it was always pure and made his eyes sparkle. The sound reminded her of happiness and warmth. "The cook must've not cleaned the kidneys properly for the entire pie tasted like cow piss."

"You puked and swore off eating kidney ever again." She shook her head as she remembered, baffled that they had come so far since the time when their worst fear was piss tasting steak and kidney pie. "Do you have any plans?" she asked. "For the future, I mean?" She watched as his cheeks bulged, too much wine filling his mouth, his eyes widening. "I'm sorry," she said, when he coughed after forcing himself to swallow. "It's just in your last letter… you, uh… you didn't say much."

"What's there to say," he muttered, cheeks tinting. "We will deal with the future when it arrives and until then I will focus on assisting you in finding Germain."

"Arno, why are you being evasive? This isn't like you. All I want to know is if you have plans for the future and am I—"

"Here you go," the maid said, setting down bowls of soup. "Fresh from the pot."

"Thank you, Philistine," Arno said, he began to eat, and Élise merely stared at him. She pouted and kicked him in the shin beneath the table. He jerked in surprise. "Ow."

"Answer me, Arno."

"Élise."

"After Germain is dead, will we still be together? What do you want out of life after my father has been avenged?" She looked at him, pleadingly. "I want us to remain Arno and Élise." She looked down at the roses in her lap, their sweet scent wafting up to her. The crowd laughed again, before clapping in approval. She looked up when she felt Arno's hand on hers.

"And we shall forever remain Arno and Élise," he said, bring her hand up to his mouth to kiss her fingers. "I promise."

"Arno—"

"Now eat, don't want you hungry," he said, letting go of her hand and going back to his own meal. Élise sighed, wondering why he was being so secretive with her. She knew it wasn't because he was an Assassin; she understood he knew things he couldn't tell her, just like she knew things she couldn't tell him. Yet, this had nothing to do with Templars and Assassins. It had purely everything to do with them, and he was hiding something.

She picked up the spoon and began to eat her soup. It was good, a rich beef broth with carrots, turnips, onions, and celery, the lentils cooked until tender. A peppery tasted lingered on her tongue and the warmth chased away the chill in her bones. "The soup's delicious."

"Andrée makes good food," Arno agreed. "I enjoy the spices she used. You know she was born a slave in Haiti and then when her master moved back to Paris, she was freed and found work here at the Café Théâtre."

"I didn't, that explains the zing," Élise said. Philistine came back with the plates of pork roast and boiled potatoes. She smiled at the maid as the woman set the rest of the meal down. She tackled the pork and potatoes once she had finished her soup. The pork had been well roasted, the fat completely rendered out, leaving the meat flavorful and juicy. Élise didn't care too much for the boiled potatoes.

Philistine came out again to take away the finished bowls and plates. "Dessert, monsieur?" she asked Arno.

"Élise?" Arno asked.

"No, not tonight," she said. Philistine gave a nod and left them in peace. "So, what now?" Élise asked, watching as Arno leaned back, lacing his hands over his stomach and a content look crossing his face.

"We could take in a place or we can go for a walk," he said, "I know the weather is cold but it's clear and walking will keep us warm."

"No," Élise said, standing up, "a walk will be refreshing." She held the roses, smiling at them. "You know I don't like flowers as gifts."

"I'm sorry but they were all out of pistols," Arno said, "so I settled on flowers." He held out his arm, and she looped hers through his with a laugh. She glanced back at the stage, the play was finishing up. She turned and glanced at Arno, smiling as she studied his face, her eyes tracing his scar. He never told her how he acquired it, and she feared asking him. She didn't mind it though, it added a rugged handsomeness to him. Scars covered his body, something she discovered last night as she mapped out his body with kisses and touches.

Resting her head on his bicep, they left the Café Théâtre. "Where are we going?" she asked, as he walked along a path only he knew, weaving them through the crowds of people on their way home from work or market.

"It's a surprise." He grinned, eyes twinkling. She huffed, shaking her head. He led her across Pont Marie. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of the Seine and the murky water made her stomach heave. As the entered the Marais, the once great fortress — the Bastille — loomed to their right, rising over the ruined ramparts one could still see serpentine trails of smoke. Élise noticed that Arno pointedly did not look at the Bastille.

"It's… different," she said, stopping to stare at the fortress. "I was in the crowd when it was being stormed. It used to be so imposing and terrifying" — she licked her lips — "I saw you jump off it."

"I had no choice." He gave a tug and they continued weaving between the buildings, but no matter how they tried the ruined citadel continued to loom over them, a testament to a once powerful aristocracy, now broken and crumbling at the hands of the rapid sanguinary mob.

They stepped into a square, the Bastille to their right and a church to their backs. The square wasn't particularly large, but it held a fair amount of people, a small stage for a traveling actor's troupe and a fountain. The sun was starting to set and cast nostalgic shadows. Élise shivered slightly. "You cold?" he asked.

"A little bit," she said, "look they're selling roasted chestnuts over there." She pointed to a small booth. "Let's get some." She slipped her arm from his and took his hand, leading him through the crowd to the stand. Arno stopped her, purchasing the chestnuts instead. They held the bag together to warm their chilled hands, before sitting down at the found.

"Careful," he said, pulling one out and handing it to her, "they're hot."

Accepting it with a giggle, she tossed it from hand to hand to cool it before she began to peel the hard outer shell, the fountain babbling behind them and the small crowd around the stage laughing. She looked over, grinning as she saw the performance involved making a fool of the King and Queen. "Remember when we were nine? Your first Christmas with us?" she asked.

"I do."

"We had  _marron glacé_." She smiled at the memory, giggling a bit as she shook her hand to get a sliver of shell out from her beneath her nail. "You ate so many you ended up with a bellyache."

"Ah, yes." He laughed, peeling his chestnut easily. She forgot his hands were calloused from years of climbing. "My father couldn't afford to have candied chestnuts for Christmas, it was the first time I had them."

"You didn't have much as a boy, did you?" She got her chestnut freed, and broke part of the soft meat apart before popping it into her mouth.

"My father was an écuyer, nothing fancy really, though we were noblesse d'épée and noblesse ancienne."

"So was my family, and we could trace our family back four generations, at least. Father said the de la Serres were Templars back under Grand Master de Molay. We swore fealty oaths to the king before they sacked the Temple."

"Ah." Arno ate his chestnut. "My father didn't talk much about the family, probably because the Dorians had always sided with the Brotherhood."

"Seems our families have always been on opposite sides." The wind rippled her hair, and caused the trees to rustle their bare branches. She scooted closer to Arno, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Be my wife… please?" he whispered. Her eyes grew wide, her mouth opening slightly in surprise, and her cheeks heating. She wondered if he could hear the rapid tattoo of her heart against her ribs, and never had she realized what a warm rich brown his eyes were or that they had flecks of gold in them around his pupils.

"Arno…" she said, her voice almost lost in the sigh of the wind. A smile tugged at her lips, the chestnuts in her lap forgotten, as she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Yes, of course!" she said. "I love you."

"I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Happy birthday BB, sorry it's so late! T_T
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.


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